


In Which North Has Anger Issues

by RoyalHeather



Series: before there was red vs. blue there was project freelancer [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anger Management, Arguing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say to beware the quiet ones, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which North Has Anger Issues

If someone asks about the scariest freelancers, well, North never really comes to mind. South, maybe, with her hair-trigger temper and sharp tongue, or Tex and her unholy combat skills, or Florida, who’s just plain creepy. But North, for all that he’s a mean sniper and an intense sparring opponent, usually gets ranked with Wash and CT when it comes to threat level. He’s North, after all - quiet, steadfast, unassuming North.

There’s four of them in the locker room that day, just out of a sparring match - York, North, Wash, and Wyoming. York and Wash were partnered up, which meant North and Wyoming had to work together, and therefore handicapped from the start.

(If York didn’t know better, he’d think the Director and the Counselor weren’t doing this on purpose.)

So now they’re in the locker room, sweaty and exhausted and all chipping away at the purple residue on their armor when suddenly Wyoming stands up, walks over to North, and drops a pauldron in North’s lap. North just looks up at him. “What the hell?”

“It’s your fault I got shot there, so you can clean that off,” says Wyoming. “I’m going to the canteen. Ta-ta for now.”

“No,” says North.

“No?”

“No way.” North stands, very deliberately pushes the armor piece into Wyoming’s chest. “Clean it yourself.”

It’s gone very quiet and tense in the locker room. York looks over to Wash, who’s seated across from him and is watching the confrontation apprehensively.

“Look, I rrreally don’t have time for this,” says Wyoming. “Why don’t you -”

“Clean it yourself,” says North. “It’s not my fault you got fucking shot.”

He again tries to give it to Wyoming, who doesn’t take it, and the pauldron falls to the floor with a dull clatter. “Pick it up,” says Wyoming.

“No.” North looks cool as ever, compared to Wyoming’s visible and growing irritation, but York’s _oh shit_ senses are tingling. So are Wash’s, too, judging by the look on his face.

“Oh, too good for that, are you?” says Wyoming. “Don’t worry, old chap, perhaps your sister will oblige. As I recall, she’s quite fond of bending over for men.”

Ohhh, _shit_.

York scrambles up to put a hand on North’s chest, hold him back; Wash is trying to tug away Wyoming, who’s chuckling, apparently oblivious to how pale North’s gone and the murder in his eyes.

“Hey, North,” says York - this close he can practically feel the ice-cold anger radiating off of him - “just back it up, buddy, keep it cool -”

“I’m fine,” says North, but his fists are clenched so tightly his shoulders are vibrating.

“No, you’re not.” York’s still got an arm thrown across North’s chest, trying to slowly draw him back from Wyoming, but it’s like trying to pull back a draft horse. There’s a muscle twitching in North’s jaw, and his lips are white. “Wash, why don’t you and Wyoming go head over to the canteen?”

“Oh, please,” says Wyoming. “I hardly think I need to leave -”

“Yeah.” North’s eyes are glittering dangerously. “Wyoming, why don’t you stick around, have a chat -”

“No no, nope,” says York. “North, just stay chill -”

“Heyyy, Wyoming,” says Wash, with a valiant attempt at nonchalance. “Why don’t we head over to the canteen?”

By now Wyoming can sense the danger he’s in; he’s stopped smirking and he’s got a bit of deer-in-the-headlights going. “All right,” he says, pulling off a casual tone about as well as Wash did. He and Wash make their hasty retreat, and not until York hears the door close behind them does he feel safe enough to pull away from North.

“Hey,” York says. North’s still livid, but at least he no longer looks like he’s going to snap Wyoming’s head off. “You okay?”

“Fine,” says North, with a tight, blank smile.

“No, you’re not.” York turns, grabs a pistol out of the nearest weapons rack. “Here. Go shoot something, Preferably not me.”

In a flash North’s grabbed the gun and unloads the entire clip into Wyoming’s locker with startling accuracy, jaw marble-set. York just stands still and waits for the ringing in his ears to subside. “Better?” he says, once he can hear.

“Yeah,” North sighs, putting the gun down on the bench. “More or less.”

“Good. Just a thought, what say we steer clear of the canteen for a little while?”

North snorts. “That’s probably a good idea.”


End file.
